


Hearing Loss

by Emily_F6



Series: Febuwhump 2020 [11]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad, Kidnapping, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, febuwhump 2020, sipderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23158897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily_F6/pseuds/Emily_F6
Summary: Peter is trapped.  No one is coming for him.  And he can't hear anything.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Febuwhump 2020 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664710
Comments: 4
Kudos: 193





	Hearing Loss

Peter sat in the dark room, eyes wide open as he stared at the wall across from his cot. He shivered, bringing his knees to his chest, the old threadbare blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He guessed it had been nice of them to throw him a blanket. A little less nice of them to throw him in a cell and drug him, but with the blanket, he was almost warm. Kind of.

Mr. Stark would come. Or...someone. One of the Avengers. Someone would come. There had been a mission...it was all a little fuzzy, but he remembered a mission. He remembered the Avengers on the streets of New York, and robots and...and an explosion. He'd been talking to Mr. Stark on the comms and then...then an explosion. A fire. And then...someone stabbing him in the neck with something and...and...he struggled to remember as he sat with his back to a wall, the other wall only a few feet away.

The door was reinforced. He'd found that out as soon as he'd woken up and had stumbled over to it in the dark, grabbing at it with weak, uncoordinated hands that had refused to grip or stick to anything. Finally, though, he'd managed to shove at the metal, only to find out it was stuck tight, and no amount of pushing or punching made a dent.

The cell was designed for people like him. Enhanced people. That, at least, gave him some idea of where he was, and he didn't like it.

But that wasn't the worst part. Not that or the cold or the ever-present darkness in his tiny room that was only five steps by five steps with the bed he was sitting on and a toilet in the other corner. The worst part was the silence.

Peter couldn't hear. He couldn't hear his own footsteps as he paced or the sound his knuckles made when they slammed into the metal door over and over, or the sound of his own voice when he screamed, head thrown back, tears streaming down his face, desperate just to hear something. Anything. He couldn't hear his own heartbeat anymore, or the footsteps of anyone nearby, or the tiny metal slot in the door opening three times a day with meager portions of food that he inhaled, too starving to be proud.

When he'd first woken up in the tiny, dark room with barely enough light coming in from under the metal door to see, he'd thought the silence had been a result of the explosion. He'd been sure that it would go away, telling himself over and over not to panic. That he was okay. That he was an Avenger and that he'd get out of this. Then, when the door hadn't even budged under his full strength, he'd told himself that the Avengers would come. They had to. Mr. Stark would never abandon him.

There had been an explosion. He remembered an explosion. And the feeling of hitting the ground, and a high pitched ringing in his ears that faded when someone had plunged a needle into his neck. Where had the others been? He couldn't remember. His job had been to set up a perimeter...but he couldn't remember if he'd done it.

Peter thought it had been three days, but it was impossible to tell. At first, he'd woken up and fallen asleep so many times, and the light under the door never changed. He tried to count by meals. Tried to keep track that way. But he had no way to track the time before he'd woken up for good. He thought it had been three days since that, but he wasn't sure.

He stood up, pacing in the dark. It was all he could do. Pace and listen to his senses and try not to cry and try to remember. Try to remember the events leading up to the explosion and the sound of Mr. Stark's voice asking him to...to do something. To get clear. To...to be careful? No matter how he searched his memory, he couldn't quite piece it together. Hands pressed to the metal door, he stopped his pacing and rested his forehead against the cold metal, straining to listen. Trying so hard to hear anything...anything at all. But there was nothing. Even the high pitched ringing that had been his constant companion at first was gone, leaving a silence so heavy that Peter worried it would never be broken.

How long would he be stuck here in the dark?

Peter slammed his hands against the door one more time, throwing his head back and screaming. "Help!" The word tore out of his throat and he beat his hands against the metal, not sure if the word was coming out right or not. It didn't matter. He didn't care. He just screamed and screamed and until his throat was raw and his hands were bleeding.

And then, when his voice refused to work anymore and his hands throbbed and refused to clench into fists anymore, he dropped to the ground, back against the wall, tears running down his cheeks.

What if no one came? What if he never saw Mr. Stark again?

He eventually crawled back to the bed, pulling the blanket over him and turning to stare at the wall. And that's where he stayed.

When he felt the scrape of the metal tray in the slot through his hand pressed to the wall he'd crawl out of bed and eat, then crawl back into bed. Sometimes, he would roll over and press his hand to the floor, trying to feel for the vibrations of footsteps, but it rarely worked...only when he happened to catch someone walking right up to his door. And no matter how loudly or for how long he screamed, no one ever opened the door.

He didn't know how much time passed before he gave up. Before he stopped screaming and stopped staring around the room, anxious to know what was happening now that he'd lost one of his senses. He didn't need to know, he realized, because nothing was happening. No one was going to open the door. No one was coming for him.

Peter didn't know how much time passed before the hand touched his arm. He'd eaten once that day...or maybe he'd just slept all day and eaten once that night. He no longer had any way to track the passing time. When fingers brushed against the blanket covering him, he jerked hard, flinching away and closing his eyes. He didn't know what this new development was, or why these people suddenly wanted to communicate with him, but he wanted no part of it. Too weak to even sit up, he just curled up into an even tighter ball, eyes shut tight. The hand shook his shoulder, but he just kept as still as he could. He couldn't take it. Couldn't take any of it anymore. He'd been in the dark for what felt like so too long and he couldn't hear anything and he didn't even know if anyone was coming for him.

The hand pulled hard on his shoulder then, rolling him over onto his back, and another hand pressed against his cheek. That's when he opened his eyes, and found himself face to face with Mr. Stark.

His jaw dropped, lips trembling as he saw the man standing over him, and then he shoved himself upright, grabbing desperately at the man and using his fingers balled in his shirt to pull himself up, a sob escaping before he'd even managed to do it. Mr. Stark grabbed him, arms tight around his back, and he could feel the man's voice through his chest but he couldn't hear him! Mr. Stark pulled away after a moment, and Peter flinched at the light from the open door. The door was open! Mr. Stark had come for him!

The older man put both hands on Peter's face, mouth moving, but Peter couldn't hear him...couldn't hear anything. Couldn't hear his heartbeat or the blood rushing through his own veins or the way Mr. Stark's joints would pop sometimes when he crouched or moved his shoulder in a certain way. The man kept speaking, then narrowed his eyes, tapping Peter's cheek gently, but Peter just closed his eyes, tears running down his cheeks. "I can't." He had no idea how loudly he said it, but his throat ached and his head hurt and his hands shook at his sides. "I can't hear anything."

Mr. Stark pulled him into his arms again, a hand pressed against the back of his head once more, his grip just as desperate as Peter's. After a moment, though, he tapped his finger on Peter's back, and it took Peter a moment, but he quickly caught on. "You're okay. You're okay. You're okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm here." Over and over he tapped it until Peter nodded, more tears falling and soaking Mr. Stark's shirt.

"Scared." Peter answered, tapping his own finger on Mr. Stark's back. "Scared scared scared scared scared."

Mr. Stark ran his fingers through Peter's hair, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. "I'm here. I'm here. I'm here." His hand on Peter's back was firm and reassuring, and he tapped the message over and over until Peter felt his heart slow just a little, shoulders losing some of their tension.

"Team? Team?" He asked, exhausted brain struggling to get all the letters just right.

Mr. Stark nodded. "Here. Waiting. All here."

He pulled away then, cupping Peter's cheek in his own and looking him up and down for a moment before seeming satisfied. Reaching down, he grabbed a cup that must have come from the last meal try and held it out to Peter. He downed the water he'd ignored before, suddenly a lot more invested in surviving. Mr. Stark kept a hand on his arm, and once he'd swallowed all of the water, the man's finger began to tap on his arm once more. "Ready?"

Peter nodded, lurching to his feet, anxious to be out of this hellhole once and for all. Mr. Stark jumped up, wrapping an arm around him, and together, they limped through the open door.


End file.
